A Drastic Change
by TSRowenwood
Summary: After Bruce came back, Damian had to choose between his father or his brother. Sometimes he felt that he chose wrong.
1. Part 1

Part 1

_Dear Grayson,_

_Working with Father is certainly much different than working with you. Less irritatingly talkative for one, and he seems to have the grasp on personal boundaries that has eluded you for another. How are things going with the police job and your other nightly activities? Also, Grayson, will you be visiting the Manor soon? Pennyworth misses you._

_Sincerely,_

_Damian Wayne_

Damian finished the letter, signing his name, knowing that there would be no response. It seemed that every single time a letter was sent, Grayson had never had the time or was otherwise occupied.

There was once a time when they had always had time for each other. It didn't matter what else was going on.

And then Father had come home. Everything changed. I had had to make a choice, and sometimes I feel like I chose wrong. I chose Father over Grayson, and because of that he has distanced himself more than ever.

I suppose when I think about it . . . I guess . . . I kind of . . . miss him. Great. Now I'm starting to sound like a sentimental old fool.

And _NO_. I am _NOT_ getting a soft spot for that infernal imbecilic circus child. I just miss his listening to my every word.

And anyone who says differently will be having a prolonged, slow, painful death Mother would have been proud of.

I picked up the letter, put it in an addressed envelope, and went outside. I promptly ignored Pennyworth's pathetic pleadings to put on a coat and shoes.

I placed the envelope in the mailbox, flipping the flag up. As I walk away, I spare a last glance at it.

Maybe, just maybe, I'd get a response this time.

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**Yes, this will come in parts. I was considering making the whole story one long one-shot, but I decided against it.**

**Please tell me if I put this in the wrong section! I don't know, because I never read the comics!**

**I'm really excited about this story, even if it means admitting the one character I despise, but I still am finding it fun and dramatic to write.**

**Hope you like it!**


	2. Part 2

**Thanks for the reviews. I am so glad that I put it into the right section. Phew.**

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Part 2

Father sent me out alone to patrol the west side of Gotham tonight. _Again_. I would vow on the honor of the House of al Ghul, we are most likely the most un-dynamic Dynamic Duo to protect these filthy villain-ridden streets. He NEVER has the time for me. Unlike Grayson. He always had -

Wait. Since when did I start caring about Grayson? Pathetic. Time to bring out the punching bag with Grayson's name on it once more.

I'm crouching on the roof of an abandoned building, never moving although my eyes dart about, trying to catch something. Even an argument which I would win with that brainless fool Drake would be better than -

Wait! What was that? Right over there - Ah.

Right over there was a small boy, no more than seven, looking for an unknown item in the trash. I looked around for the boy's parents. Or at least someone who might know him. I found none.

Coming down from my perch - stupid Grayson with his stupid words - I came up behind him silently.

"Where are your parents?"

He about jumped eight feet in the air, and I had to stop myself from smirking triumphantly.

The boy had brilliant green eyes, and they remind me of Todd's. His hair was a deep brown, and definitely not well kept.

"N-Nowhere. Mr. Robin , sir."

Sir? Who was this child? But, I must admit, it felt nice having a proper title. "Where do you live?"

The boy pointed towards the abandoned building I had taken as my hiding place. "S-Sissy and I live there. D-Da and M-Mum were mean and so K-Kat and I ran away," His eyes filled with tears. "And n-now she's real s-sick, and I can't find any med-medicine!"

I felt a twinge of sympathy for the kid. Wonderful. I really am a sentimental old fool. "Take me to her," I found my voice betraying me. "I'll try to help."

He looked up at me with hope-filled eyes, and quickly ran into the building. I followed, as he led me to the top floor, and into a plain room. It only had a bed and a nightstand.

A girl - Kat, had he said? - was in the bed, her long light brown hair splayed out on the pillow around her round face. Her eyes were closed, and beads of sweat were on her brow despite the freezing cold of the room. She was pale, and her breathing was all raspy.

"B-Ben?" She gasped for air, and her eyes opened, revealing a pair of beautiful deep hazel eyes. A lovely mix of green and blue.

By the name of Batman, Grayson! This is even worse than before! Now you've turned me into a sentimental romantic as well!

"I'm here, Katya. Mr. Ro-Robin is here to make you b-better," Ben bent over her.

Katya. Gorgeous name. No! Don't think like that you dimwit! This is strictly business!

I checked her over and recognized the signs of pneumonia. I took her and Ben to the nearest hospital, much to the shock of the nurses and doctors. Their faces were hilarious. When they asked to whom they should make out the bill, I simply replied, "Bruce Wayne. I do believe he has a habit of taking in strays, doesn't he?"

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**Sorry about the shortness of the chapters. But these parts will come fairly quickly, as I already have the first 4 parts already typed up, ready to be shipped out to you guys.**

**No, Damian is not the character I despise. He will come along in the next part. **

**And I know you all are expecting Richard Grayson to come into the story, because he's one of the two characters in the main characters place, but don't worry! He'll be there. He's coming.**

**Hope you enjoyed this particularly fluffy chapter.**


	3. Part 3

Part 3

I had assumed that the rest of the patrol would be uneventful. I was infinitely wrong in my conclusions.

I had heard a number of people complaining about a specific warehouse and I thought it might be worth looking into. Father was taking care of some business with _Cat Woman._ I hate that feline. She isn't worthy in the slightest of Father's affections. Of course, my opinion may be slightly biased because I have never met the woman, and what with my mother and all. Anyway, with Father taking care of that business, there was no one to stop me from looking into this.

Besides, it probably wasn't a very huge problem anyway, I thought to myself at the time.

I was very wrong.

When I reached the warehouse - it's always a warehouse, how cliché - I slipped inside through a broken window. To anyone else it would have been inaccessible, but I was trained by the best.

Balancing on inside window-sill I took a look at my surroundings. Above me were rafters, so that's where I went.

The room was as black as pitch, except for a single circle of light. However it was what was within the circle that interested me. A man, heavyset and sweating was tied in the center on a wooden chair. It was obvious that he was a criminal just from his clothes.

Suddenly a man walked of the shadows. He was wearing a suit. Hero or villain wasn't for certain; the design could very well be either. I can't tell his age at all. And it doesn't help that he has a domino mask covering his eyes. You can tell he's older, but he still has some baby-fat in his cheeks. His hair was longer, it was a newer trend, but it was styled in a little bit of an older fashion.

Don't judge me. I'm a Bat. I've literally been trained for _everything_. So of course I know about this.

He walked coolly around the chair, face expressionless. Suddenly he pulled out a knife and held it to the man's throat. It was quick, and I almost couldn't see it.

"I will ask you this once. Who do you work for?" Red hissed. I'm sure Todd would enjoy it, after all this man does seem to lean toward his side of the spectrum. He has a large red section on his chest that wraps around his shoulders and has the same design on the back that is on the front.

The man in the chair shook with fright. "I swear I don't work for anyone!"

Red folded his arms over his chest. "Oh really?" I could practically see his eyebrows raise behind the mask. His foot suddenly lashed out, striking the man in the chest, causing the chair to tall backwards. The man screamed. But before the chair could hit the ground, Red faster than speed leaned over and caught the chair-back, holding it inches above the floor. "I find that hard to believe. You've been kidnapping kids for over four weeks now, and I saw you with some other scumbag, and him paying you! And I told you I wouldn't ask again, so answer the question!"

Red let go of the chair, making it fall the rest of the way to the floor. He walked back into the shadows once it was apparent that the criminal wasn't going to talk. The circle of light disappeared, leaving them in complete darkness. My eyes quickly became accustomed to the dark, however, because of all that time in the Batcave.

I could see Red's outline. He was walking towards the tied-up man silently. Suddenly he made his footsteps louder. The man on the floor was clearly freaking out. Red backed away slowly, his footsteps getting quieter. Then he started flipping and twisting. It was all so . . . familiar.

Then, as he pulled out eskrima sticks and started fighting at nothing over the man and making it appear that he was fighting an invisible being, I realized. I knew this man.

He was a little different than I remember. His fighting style was sharper, more precise and dangerous. And the costume was different too. I look back to his red portion, and realize it is not simply a blob. It's a bird. A red bird. He used to don a blue bird.

But there was no doubt about it.

This is my brother.

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**Dun dun dun dun! Cliffie! As an author once typed, "Cliffhangers. Very fun for the author to write. But the readers don't like them so much." Or something like that, anyway.  
**

**And again, sorry for the short chapters, but they are only parts of the actual thing.**

**Please tell me what you think! **


	4. Part 4

**Okay, now would probably be a good time to tell you that this story comes after the reboot . . .**

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Part 4

Now, this might sound a little strange coming from me, but I wanted nothing more than to desperately run to Nightwing - or did he go by a different name now? - and stop him from mentally torturing this man.

But I admit, I was hesitant. For one, it was always extremely dangerous to bother a Bat while he - or she - was working. Believe me, I know from experience. People who do that don't always come out intact. Physically or mentally. Mostly the latter.

But the more important reason was my brother's fighting style. Raised as Heir Apparent to the House of Al Gaul, I knew the methods of fighters, of assassins and heroes. I was raised to win and in order to succeed in such a task you need knowledge of weapons, strategy, and most importantly, fighting styles. The reason this was so essential to survival is that a person could be read through their fighting method. You could see intention, personality, method, even origin on occasion. A rather stupid notion, in my opinion, but helpful, informative all the same, though it could be harmful. Sometimes you did not want to know, but I only truly discovered that now.

Grayson was using moves I knew, that I had fought alongside during Father's absence, that I had begun to trust as something solid, just like the brother I had never known I wanted. It was almost cruel how easily he used them as he went against everything I had known about him. He no longer read as the playful, though caring man I knew, now he spoke of a cold being that did not care about the man or the fear or the pain. He was not aiming for merely frightening the quivering man.

He was aiming for torture, a method I was far too familiar with. One I never, _ever_ wanted to see any of my brothers using, even Todd. But particularly Grayson.

Because this method rarely ended by anything other than death.

I was shocked out of my thoughts when I heard a crack. My head whipped downwards, heart racing. Eyes widening, I reached a horrible conclusion. _Maybe he's finished off the man._

But I was proven wrong when I took a closer look. Grayson's fist had produced a hole not an inch away from the criminal's face. The poor - yes, I will be sympathetic this once. No one deserves this - man had tear tracks running down his face.

"Zucco! I'm working for Tony Zucco!"

My heart about stopped. The one man my brother nearly killed. The one man who made him so angry he _wanted_ to kill. I look down to see Grayson's reaction.

His face, which had been cold and hard enough, had gone darker than I'd ever seen it. Even as Batman, Grayson never had _that_ expression on his face before.

He lowered his face so that it was up close and personal with the criminal's. "Oh really now? And what does Zucco-" he spat out the name venomously, "-want with all those kids?"

The criminal cowered, for all the good it did him ringed by light and stalked by the monster that had taken over my brother. "I don't know! He said something about wanting one in particular! But nobody's brought the right one! Said something about revenge and might as well get the ransom from the rest of 'em anyway!" He spoke so fast it almost competed with that simpleton, Flash.

"What kid?"

"I don't know! Some rich kid! Wait, wait! I think he said Wayne's kid! That's right! That stray Damian! Said he wanted to make the Grayson kid pay, seeing as how they're so close an' all!"

My blood ran cold. Everything seemed to stop, even my brother. Tony Zucco wanted me, to get back at Grayson for being the one person to keep him from leaving prison of his free will. Time seemed to freeze, frozen in shock and bewilderment.

And then he lashed out. Grayson sent a punch to the criminal's neck with a cry of anger. In that moment I wished I had gone down.

In that moment I saw something I had never wanted to see my brother do.

I saw my oldest brother kill a man. I saw the face that had smiled at me, encouraged me; look dispassionately down at the body. I saw the hands that had defended me, protected me, stopped me, and embraced me pull back from something that went against everything that he believed in.

Or had believed in.

And what was almost worse, was how he did it.

With one. Single. Blow.

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**And this is the character I hate so much. And if you know how Nightwing became this person and started working for Deathstroke, please tell me. I've looked all over the internet for the info, and I can't find it.**

**Anyhoo, I really didn't like this chapter. Not because I didn't like the plot, because I do, but because I had to have him kill. I'm really sorry for that. I don't like killing for the sake of killing in stories, but this death was kind of crucial.**

**Tell me how it is . . . I won't blame you for yelling in your reviews.**


	5. Part 5

**Thanks for all of the reviews for that last chapter! Holy cow, I got more reviews for Part 4 than I did for the first part, and I got a fair few for that one. Thanks for the support!**

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Part 5

Grayson had just stared at the dead man for awhile. I was seriously beginning to think that I wouldn't be able to contain myself much longer when he did something utterly Drake-like.

He took a cell-phone out of his pocket.

Grayson, you imbecilic murderer, what are you thinking?! Actually, you aren't thinking, clearly you aren't given I don't believe even you capable of such stupidity! You kill a man and then make a leisurely call! I'm ashamed to call you a member of the BatFamily1 You idiotic, infuriating traitor, how could I call you my brother?!

And then I saw what number he was punching in. 9-1-1.

Tt, stupid, but go ahead. Turn yourself in. See if I care.

I felt something cold and wet slide down my cheek. I scowled up at the ceiling, looking for cracks. Surprisingly, I found none. I turned my attention back to the renegade, disloyal, backstabbing _thing _that had once been Batman.

He had started talking to the police on the phone."Yes, this is -" He listed off a name that no one could ever remember. But, that's not Grayson's voice. So he's not turning himself in. Pity. I guess I'll have to take him there myself.

He sounded like a boy. He sounded like -

I allow my eyes to widen a fraction. He sounded like that boy, Ben. The one who was lucky to live with Kayta. Control yourself, al Ghul! But how did he know about Ben?

I reasonably guess the police are asking why a 'child' is calling 9-1-1, and Grayson replies in that sickly sweet and scared voice, "I was w-walking pa-past that w-warehouse that people have been ta-talking about, and I heard v-voices inside. I went in, but n-no one was th-there. B-but there's a dead man in here!" Grayson was shrieking at the end. He was even shaking, what I assume was for added effect. "K-Kay, I'll st-stay here."

He flipped the phone shut. He started walking towards the exit, and I prepared to jump out of the rafters to face him. But then he did something else.

Grayson glanced back at the corpse of the man he had not five minutes ago killed, and walked back towards him. He untied the corpse from the chair, gently. What the heck is going on?

He leaned the corpse up and took of the man's leather jacket. He then laid the body back on the chair, and laid the jacket on top of the man's chest and face.

And then Grayson walked away, melting into the shadows, and the last sound I hear is the police sirens wailing as I decide that it is high time I went back to the Batcave.

I have some figuring out to do.

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**Sorry if in this part it doesn't quite sound like Damian. And I really couldn't resist bringing Ben and Katya back into the story-line. That was completely added on a random whim.**

**Review?**


	6. Part 6

**Sorry I haven't posted anything for awhile. But I have a good reason! I went camping for a few days. It helped a lot. In fact, we were sitting around the campfire when this part came into my head at 8:45. I finished this at roughly 9:30 PM.**

**Enjoy!**

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Part 6

I came to a very important conclusion once I got back to the Batcave:

Father can be as frustrating and as irking as Grayson.

And if you can't figure it out just from that, here's the Toned Down for Imbeciles version:

Father always knows when something is nagging me. Unless it's himself, of course. Then he's completely oblivious.

You see, as soon as I came in I went to the Batcomputer, hoping to get some research done. And Father just had to pick right then to make an appearance.

He immediately began pestering me with silent and occasionally verbal questions about patrol and asking what the ninja I'm doing on the computer.

. . .

What the ninja? Really? Unfortunately at the present time I have neither the inclination nor the patience. You know who is to blame.

. . .

Blast it all! Now I know how the rest of the residents of Wayne Manor have felt!

. . .

With the exception of Pennyworth, of course.

. . .

I can't take it anymore!

I stand up so quickly that the chair rams back into Father. I then slam my fist into the wall, creating a good sized crater which narrowly misses any of the cables and equipment.

I don't look up to see Father's expression, which would surely promise the now upcoming punishment of

A) Cleaning the Batcave

B) Cleaning all of the cars

or C) Something just as time-consuming and pointless

I square my shoulders and finally look Father in the eye. It's never been too difficult to read his features, per say, but this . . . He's making it downright impossible!

So I choose the cowardly option and pardon myself to go change so that I can go up to Wayne Manor. Yes, I suppose I can see the reason behind not being in costume around the Manor, but that doesn't mean it still isn't irritating. And if I had my way, the stupid rule would be done away with.

But I can't, because it's Pennyworth's rule.

And yes, if you must know, that does make a difference.

The last time I broke one of his rules Grayson bolte3d a pure bronze plaque onto my bedroom wall (which I have yet to figure out how to take of) that reads:

Damian, the first rule to living in Wayne Manor is:

NEVER disobey Alfred.

Believe me, he can and will make your life miserable.

And Pennyworth did make me almost regret what I did. For a whole week. Nearly.

. . . If only I didn't enjoy Pennyworth's cooking so much . . .

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**'So. That went well I thought.' I mean that literally, but who here knows what movie that came from? I do.**

**What do you think? Was it okay? And just because I can type this, I am really enjoying writing Damian. He's so fun.**


	7. Part 7

**The quote was from Stardust. I love that movie. It's so hilarious! No one guessed, but I thought I would tell you anyway.**

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Part 7

I knew I wasn't going to get anywhere without using a computer as good as the Batcomputer. However, that does not mean that I can't find a source almost as good as the Batcomputer.

Because I can.

I walk down the hall of the second floor and take the fifth door on the left. My bedroom. Grayson used to find it amusing that I chose the fifth room and that I am the fifth Robin. I told him he was an idiot, and that still stands.

I just never imagined that he would be such an idiot as to go and turn out like Todd.

Walking into my room I head for the computer. No, I am not going to use mine because it is not nearly as sophisticated as I'd like it to be.

And then I see the screensaver. My eyes narrow dangerously at the picture of me with a lot of added effects so that I look like the devil.

. . . Drake . . . I should have killed you when I had the chance . . . You will regret this . . .

I change the desktop back to what it used to be (no I will not tell you) and pull up the map of the Manor I have. It's not like I don't already have it memorized, but sometimes I can't figure which room belongs to which idiot of an adopted brother of mine.

Alright, the room in the attic is Todd's. No need to go there, his computer files are filled with most inappropriate things.

Ah. Grayson's room. Third floor, first door on the right. Don't even need the map for that one.

And Drake's. Such a 'geek', I believe the term is. His room's in the basement, where the cause of most of the Manor's blackouts occur.

So I have the choice of Grayson's room, or that insufferable Drake's room. I would go with Grayson's room, but I do not step into traitor's rooms.

Drake on the other hand . . .

Yes. I believe I will go with his room. It has the most tech, and anyway, I need somewhere to start on Drake's punishments, don't I?

Naturally, the first thing I did when I got into Drake's room was scan in the picture that I've been waiting for weeks for a chance to use into his computer. Then I set it as the desktop. It looks . . . exactly like him. In my opinion at least.

I go to an unknown source (at least, to you) and hack into the police department in Blüdhaven. Really, they make it too easy.

Hmmm. It seems that Grayson is still the best of the best. And they keep on finding criminals that are already packaged and are ready to ship to prison . . . So it seems that Grayson has really just gone renegade. Like Todd. Still does good work, but won't hesitate to torture and kill.

I exit the room and return to mine, and lie on the bed, staring at the rotating fan. I stay that way for awhile before Pennyworth informs me that it is time for dinner.

But I've already made my decision.

I think it's high time I pay my dear older 'brother' a visit.

Don't you?

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**Honestly, I feel kind of bad for what Tim is going to see on his screen. Don't worry, you'll get to know what it is. Later. Much later. In the epilogue, in fact. Which is not for several more chapters.**

**I'm really sorry I keep leaving you on these cliff-hangers, but what can I say? I like writing them.**

**Please review and tell me what you think.**


	8. Part 8

**Oki-doki. Sorry that this has come so late. I left for four days. But it's here now and I hope you like it!**

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Part 8

At dinner it has always been quiet. Father doesn't ever say anything, so why should I? But obviously he felt the need because he asked me if there was something going on.

'You think?' I'm tempted to ask, but it's not like he knows what happened. It's not like he saw his 'son' murder someone last night. No. He had to be taking care of business with Cat Woman.

Should I tell him? I mean, that way Grayson would get the talk of his life by the man he thought of as his father. But then Father would probably ban me from going with him.

No. Not going is not an option. If Father wants to know what's going on, then he can figure it out by himself. I'm not going to do the dirty work for him.

"Nothing. But I was wondering," I bit my lip. How humiliating to be asking for anything. "If I could zeta _**(1)**_ to Blüdhaven tomorrow."

Father blinks. And then blinks again. What? What did I do wrong? I hear other children asking their parents for things all the time, just like that. What did I do that was different?

"Why?"

Why? Tt. Stupid, Wayne, stupid. Why didn't you prepare yourself for this? "Well, I - We, haven't seen Grayson in awhile." This is terrible! But Father seems to buy it, as he allows a small smile to flicker upon his face.

"Alright. When?" Typical. Keeping it as simple as possible.

"I just said it. Tomorrow," I have to resist rolling my eyes.

Father's eyebrow rose, and he came back with, "You know I meant what time."

"Really? Because you could have meant several other things. Probably two in the afternoon. I won't be staying long. I just want to make sure he isn't dying over there. He hasn't answered any of my letters," I lower my voice to a whisper at that last sentence. When I say I learn from the best, I don't always mean Father. Often, I have been grateful to Grayson for teaching me better in the ways of getting what you want from Father.

Don't you dare tell anyone. Again, anyone who does say it shall have a long, slow, painful death worthy of Grandfather.

"Do you want to go alone?" His voice carries an undertone of understanding. I almost feel guilty about leading him on.

I said almost.

"Yes."

"Well alright then. Just make sure to tell us _before_ you leave, and make sure you get back before eleven," Patrol, he means.

I have to fight very hard to resist smirking in triumph.

Oh, it is just too easy to get my way sometimes.

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**Alright, so this went smoother than I had been expecting. I'm really sorry about how I wrote Bats. For one, it's nearly impossible to imagine him in this sort of situation, and two, I personally didn't even like the fact that they brought him back. He should have stayed dead. Sorry to anyone who thought differently.**

**1. Like I said before, I didn't read any of the comics. I don't know if they had zeta-beams. Sorry if this is incorrect. Please inform me if it is.**


	9. Part 9

Part 9

The next morning I retrieved a duffle bag and pack the essentials. Rope, grappling gun, The Art of War (gift from Grandfather), notebook, pen, swords, shuriken, knives, and a few other things one might need when you're confronting a person you called mentor (though never out loud) that has since gone renegade.

And yes, that does include a Taser.

And because it was created by the Batman (Father), you won't be surprised when I tell you that it is a great deal stronger than the ones the police use.

I go down to the Batcave and walk over to the zeta-tube. The last time I used this . . . Not a pleasant memory. In short, it didn't register me correctly and I ended up with half the Justice League after me. Of course, given that a majority of that half had met me, I highly doubt that it was only the system confusion that caused that attack.

I make sure that nothing is wrong (the last time it didn't work because _**someone **_left a sock in the gears. An accident, according to him) and walk through.

A word of advice when you go through a zeta-beam:

Don't. Take the train instead (not my words, these come directly from the idiot known as Flash. And I agree with him. Do not utter a word).

I walk out in the most popular criminal alley-way. Grayson's thoughts at the time were that when he walked out the criminals would get freaked out. And though I loathe admitting it, he was right. This was proven when I hear (not see, due to the white dots flashing in front of my eyes. Shame) several very high pitched screams and feet running in the opposite direction of me.

I smirk, change into civilian clothes along with a pair of shades, and head over in the direction of the numerous apartment buildings.

Honestly, I don't know how Grayson can stand living in this city. I was pestered by at least seventeen homeless freaks and was almost jumped six times. Perhaps it's his personality, and perhaps it's simply that he enjoys being shocked every few seconds. Or perhaps I don't even want to know.

Yes, I believe I'll go with that last statement.

I run up a few flights of stairs once I reach the correct apartment, because honestly, who wants to wait so long for an even longer ride up that makes you feel like you've been introduced to the crowbar by the Joker himself?

Don't even continue to think the thought that I know you're thinking about at this present moment. It most certainly does not mean what you think it means.

Anyways, back to business. It takes me three minutes to finish unlocking the door with my lock-pick-wires, as Grayson is as paranoid as Father is. For Batman's sake, he has five high security locks on the blasted door! Given, it's Blüdhaven and you cannot truly be a citizen with even one less lock, but the fact remains.

Inside I find that his living room is quite disorganized while his kitchen is practically untouched. I smirk as I remember Grayson's last cooking incident at the Manor. Alfred banned him from anywhere near the kitchen for the fifteenth time. All of the other rooms are more like the front room.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for to be perfectly frank. I know I won't find anything that screams, 'I MURDERED A MAN! SEND ME TO JAIL NOW!' simply because he was trained by THE Batman. Everyone who is Father's apprentice learns at least _something. _Todd is a perfect example here. Well perhaps not. He can truly plead insanity.

I start with his bedroom, and find nothing that looks like what he's been doing lately. I check the guest bedroom, storage room, bathroom, and even the kitchen before I find myself collapsing on the couch. I straighten up and look around the living room. Lots of bookshelves and books. Mercy, I am relieved Drake cannot read thoughts. I would mock anyone else for that observation. Of course, they could be filled with other things, helpful things, but at least the titles are decent.

I set my eyes on the coffee table in front of me, and see a notebook. I flip through it, not very surprised when I see lists. All kinds of lists. Things needed for the house, restaurants, grocery lists, heck, he even has the world's richest men from number one down listed (my father being on it, of course. Though currently second, due to that blasted so-called villain, Luthor). I flip through a few more blank pages before one word at the top of a list catches my eye:

_**Names:**_

If that doesn't just scream that he's turning into a villain, I don't know what does. Well, perhaps I do. 'Targets' would be a more obvious word. I scan over the list of names, all of them except one crossed out. There are several birds, which I knew there would be. _Raven, Crowe, _and others that don't even make much sense.

And then I come to the name that's not crossed out, but rather, circled. The one that he's chosen.

_**Renegade**_

Hmmm, seems like I was right after all.

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**Because I told you that I would tell you what Damian did to Tim. The picture is based off of letters that Damian writes to Dick. You can see them on google. Simply look up (on Google Images) 'damian's letters to dick'. They are hilarious! It came from the last letter that Damian sends, which is actually to Tim.**

**Now is the time when I apologize profusely. I know that none of you were expecting this, and I know what you were expecting. I'm really sorry, but the next few parts are going to be some of the hardest parts that I have ever written. Please forgive me!**

**Thanks for all of the reviews for the last chapter, and please tell me what you thought of this one, even though it was completely unexpected.**


	10. Part 10

Part 10

One Timothy Drake was back at Wayne Manor for the night. He had left about the same time Dick had, and hadn't been there for several months, save the time that he planted the devil picture of Damian on said Damian's computer. At that thought Tim grinned.

He ran up to Damian's room and shook the computer awake. He frowned. Damian had changed the screen back to what it was before. _Honestly_, he thought,_ I need to find out why that kid has such an obsession with cats._

He went back downstairs to the living room where the painting of Bruce's parents was and pulled on one of the hooks that was attached to the old clock. And down to the Batcave he went.

On the Batcomputer he found what he was looking for quickly: just some hacking codes for the Watchtower. No big deal.

It had been a LONG week for Tim, and he really, _really _didn't want to go back to his city now. He had only come because during the week it had been villain after villain escaping over and over, and now was the only time in an entirety of two weeks that no one had been leaving prison. In short, he was exhausted, and so decided to crash in his basement room here, in Gotham. Sure it meant that he would have to help Bats patrol tonight(as that was the payment for coming to Gotham when it wasn't your city), but that was just fine with him.

As long as he could have a few hours of peaceful sleep, that was all that mattered.

Tim went back upstairs, snagged a few of Alfred's freshly baked snickerdoodles and raced down to his bedroom in the basement.

The former Boy Wonder launched himself once he got to the door and landed on the bed, blankets billowing up and landing on him.

Suddenly a thought came to his head. "Oh yeah! Stephanie said she'd send an e-mail!" Tim grinned, and shoved the blankets out of the way so that he could get to the computer.

He shook the mouse and gaped at the new screen saver. It was white, with a very . . . disturbing picture:

There was obviously Red Robin, lying on the ground. His eyes crossed out and his mouth in a frown/shrieking was a cat watching him from the lower right hand corner. In the upper right hand corner was written,

_Drake, this is a picture of you, dead._

_I hope your death comes straight from of the League of Assassins._

_Stay out of my room!_

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**Because I told you that I would tell you what Damian did to Tim. The picture is based off of letters that Damian writes to Dick. You can see them on google. Simply look up (on Google Images) 'damian's letters to dick'. They are hilarious! It came from the last letter that Damian sends, which is actually to Tim.**

**Now is the time when I apologize profusely. I know that none of you were expecting this, and I know what you were expecting. I'm really sorry, but the next few parts are going to be some of the hardest parts that I have ever written. Please forgive me!**

**Thanks for all of the reviews for the last chapter, and please tell me what you thought of this one, even though it was completely unexpected.**


	11. Part 11

** . . . . . . Hi . . . . So my brother-in-law told me not to . . . But I'M SOOOOOOOOOOOOO SORRRY! I do not deserve your forgiveness for the hideous hiatus that I put you all through. I promise you that I'll never make you wait that long ever again. Never. Ever. **

**FYI, all of the other parts (besides 10) have been checked, and little sections have been added/fixed, so if you want to check those out, be my guest. And my fellow authoress officially deserves the Author of the Year award, because of her HUGE help from here on out. **

***sigh* And it's really sad, because this chapter is definitely not going to help your feelings of me writing this story.**

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Part 11

Typical. Right as potentially important information is revealed someone walks through the door. I replaced the lists and hid quickly as the locks shook and the door opened to reveal Grayson. Or Renegade. I wondered if Ravager would follow (as it was hinted by the list that he had a _partner_), but Grayson was alone.

Luckily, perhaps, as Grayson's never very coherent after he gets home from work, he walked straight past me towards his bedroom.

Tt. Imbecile. But then it occurred to me he was muttering. Oh yes Wayne, just let him mutter possible vital information as you grouse to yourself about what an imbecile _he _is. Brilliant.

" - got to get the floor plans later, figure out point of entry, exit points . . . what was his name again? Oh yes, Peter Cox. Huh, P. Cox, peacock. Funny." I found myself keeping in a snort of laughter as I recalled Di - Grayson giving that particular name to Todd during a spontaneous undercover mission. It was quite amusing to see him resist the urge to sputter and swear uncontrollably in Grayson's direction.

"Let's see, weaknesses, weaknesses . . . two kids, wife deceased, sister in Central . . . but which to use?" Wonderful, always a person's dream to hear their mentor discussing the finer points of assassination, especially when said mentor was, at one point, the person to tell you about the value of humanity so as to remedy your doubt of it. "What else, Slade wanted to meet later and there's still that little – "

And abruptly his voice changed and there was a thud from the room he had walked into. I hesitantly walked forward and slid into the shadows of his bedroom. Dick (Grayson, not Dick, Grayson!) had fallen to his knees and his hands seemed to be alternating between tearing at the back of his head and clutching at his skull. I crept even closer to listen to the ever present muttering, which had lowered in volume with Dick's fall.

"No, no, no, I won't let you - you don't have a choice. I won't let you, not to him – as if you could stop me." Grayson's voice kept changing in pitch throughout the whole monologue, starting out as it normally was and then deepening and repeat. Perhaps it wasn't a choice or a turn of sides after all. Perhaps he joined Todd in insanity.

Grayson suddenly stood up and took a few steps both forward and back. It was those movements that startled me most, I'll freely admit. Grayson was _never _uncoordinated. He moved like those ballerina's we accused Drake of being and never missed a step. He most definitely did _not _stagger and, Batman forbid, _never_ came remotely close to falling. Yet now he was. But that particular thought process was moved aside for later contemplation when Grayson abruptly jerked around to face me.

"Hello, Damian Wayne. I'm very sorry for this inconvenience, but I'm going to have to kill you now." Grayson's face changed from the cruel smile that it had adopted to something different. I could now see my broth - mentor in that expression. It was a worried, frantic, pained, sort of caring jumbled into one look. "Damian, get out of here! It's – " His voice was abruptly deeper and the caring was gone. "It's too late to save him, so you may as well give up now and let me kill you. At least you'll avoid the plans my master has for you and your family later." And then a blade was in his hand and he was slowly walking forward, a menace that I had never seen before in his steps. But his hand was trembling as well and his steps more jolted and seemingly difficult, his eyes alternating between dark and light.

I was frozen in place despite the advantage I had, watching as the knife was raised above me.

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** . . . And that's my signal to run like heck. **

**Review?**


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